


Going Down (The Other One About Ghosts)

by Moorishflower



Series: The Elevator 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is dealing with his incestuous brother and his dead neighbor in the only way he knows how: massive amounts of sex. Warning for: Spectrophilia, consensual incest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Down (The Other One About Ghosts)

  
"Oh fuck," Dean breathes. "Oh _fuck_, this is…this is really weird. _Really_ weird."

"Our lives have always been weird," Sam murmurs, and that's true, because Sam's always been sort of a nerd and Dean has always been kind of crazy, so it isn't like this is plumbing-the-Lovecraftian-depths-of-insanity weird. It's just weird compared to the completely normal rest of the world. It's _Winchester_-weird, and, for them, that's not a huge deal.

Dean thinks there might seriously be something wrong with his brain if he explains away 'getting a blowjob from a ghost while his little brother rubs his dick against the small of his back' as _not a huge deal_.

Because that is what's happening. And it's happening in his nice, spacious, well-lit living room, on the couch that he bought specifically because it made the room look bigger and thus less panic-inducing, and there is absolutely no way that he will ever be able to explain this away if Doctor Kripke decides to swing by for a surprise visit (which he does sometimes, the fucker), or if Ash calls and Dean picks up the phone without thinking while Sam is sucking the mother of all hickeys into his neck and Castiel blinks up at him, vaguely blue-tinted and a little see-through, Dean's cock a dark shadow through his skin.

He and Sam have come a long way as far as accepting this _thing_ they have, that no one is ever going to accept or tell them 'it's okay' and really, they're cool with that. But the issue of Castiel has been a sore point ever since he pinched Sam's ass in the elevator a month ago, and most days Sam has fluctuated between believing wholeheartedly in the paranormal versus accusing Dean of needing to up his dosage of Xanax if the anxiety is making him hallucinate. Castiel is usually pretty good about making his presence known on those days – he wasn't kidding when he said that _Ghost_ was pretty accurate, as far as how being a spirit works. Cas can throw things and hit people (although he never would), and he's also perfectly capable of pantsing Sam while he's standing in the kitchen trying to make pasta or bacon and Dean is somewhere else, conveniently not close enough to blame for said pantsing. After those kinds of days, Sam is often quiet, and introspective.

It was on one such occasion, about a week ago, that Sam came up with his brilliant idea. Said brilliant idea being "Maybe we should include the, uh. I mean. Castiel. We should…spend more time with him."

And Dean had said something along the lines of, "We don't need to spend time with him, he follows me around. He's sitting right there."

Which of course led to Castiel pinching him, _again_, and Sam had jumped and screeched like a little girl and Dean had to make him a fruit smoothie because stupid shit like that calmed Sam down. Castiel had watched the whole thing, obviously fascinated. Dean sometimes gets the feeling that, in life, Cas was 'the awkward one.' He probably didn't go out and he didn't meet many new people and the highlight of his day was probably discussing the latest episode of _Lost_ on his lunch break with the guy in the cubicle next to his. Dean, of course, is assuming things, because he doesn't know what Castiel did for a living and the ghost doesn't like to talk about anything that happened prior to his death, so Dean doesn't even know if he watched _Lost_ or not. But he thinks that Cas and Sam would get along a lot better if they could talk _without_ needing Dean as a translator, because Sam wants to ask questions about God and the nature of the Beyond and the physical composition of the soul, and Castiel just really wants to hear them talk about tacos and try to remember what they taste like, and between the two subjects Dean is always going to pick tacos. Always.

Which had lead to Sam making another, even more bizarre suggestion ("We should see if he wants to, uh. You know. Join us."), which had resulted in the situation here, now, on the living room couch. Castiel had been surprisingly gung-ho about the idea, even considering that neither Sam nor Dean would really be able to reciprocate.

_You think too much,_ Cas sighs, and Dean's attention is drawn back to the present, to the flickers of energy running like tiny, enthusiastic tongues over his dick, like a Shiatsu massage made of lightning. Sam ruts up against the small of his back, murmuring into his ear, asking him what it's like, what Cas is like, how it feels and how _he_ feels and _seriously_? They expect him to compose an essay while all this is happening? But he mans up and tries anyways, because Sam is making those stupidly hot noises he makes when he's really into whatever's going on, and Dean supposes that seeing the dude you're bangin' get an _invisible blowjob_ is pretty fucking magical.

"S'good," he manages, and Sam hums against his neck. "Really…_really_ good. It's not…Jesus, it's not wet. Not warm. _Fuck_, it's…"

Castiel leans back, replaces his mouth with his fist and lets his tongue trail elsewhere, pushing his mouth right up close to Dean's balls and nuzzling, licking, working his way back while Dean spreads his legs and makes 'I can't believe this is happening' noises, pathetic and birdlike at the back of his throat. He feels the curl of Sam's fingers against his spine, knows that his brother is jerking off now, no longer content to slide around in his own precome.

Dean wonders what Sam sees, of Castiel, whether it's an amorphous cloud or a ball of light – all Dean can see is a guy in his thirties with feathery hair and eyes that he _knows_ are blue, intensely so, even if the color in him has been muted by death.

"S'awesome," Dean slurs, and Castiel licks a crackling stripe straight from his balls to the head of his cock as a reward. "Like electricity. Oh Jesus Christ, _Cas_."

_I enjoy it when you say my name,_ Castiel says, and that's probably the least sexy way of putting 'say my name, bitch' _ever_, but Cas has this voice that's soft and intense and fucking _gravelly_ and it goes straight to Dean's dick even when they aren't arranged like a porno on his living room couch, so, really, awkward dirty talk is still only serving to make him feel like he's going to come so hard he'll see goddamn _Jupiter_, never mind _stars_.

"I wish I could see him like you do," Sam moans, "Wish I could hear him." There's such naked _longing_ in his voice – like Sam is missing out on some intensely personal part of Dean's life and he's mourning it, like this is the closest he's ever going to get to knowing his brother completely, and Dean shouldn't find it so hot, that Sam loves him _that much_. Loves him so much more than he's supposed to, and even now he thinks that, somehow, that isn't enough. Dean turns his head to the side, yanks Sam closer by the scruff of his neck and kisses him, kisses until he's breathless and dizzy and his orgasm takes him completely by surprise, a rush of shuddering pleasure while Cas smiles up at him and Sam from the floor.

Dean is vaguely aware of Sam groaning his name, his fist working harder and faster and then the rush of wet warmth against his spine, and Sam's slightly desperate murmur of "Love you, _love you_." He'll address it later, when they're safe in Dean's bedroom and there isn't a risk of nosy doctors stumbling into the apartment.

Right now, though, he's focusing on the fact that his coffee table is covered in semen.

"Dude," he says, after a few long minutes of breathing and collecting himself and studying Castiel's pleased expression. "I _came through your head_."

Castiel shrugs.

"I take it back," Sam mutters into his shoulder. "This is weird. It's the weirdest thing ever. Oh my _god_, this is bizarre."

"You're just jealous that you didn't get to jizz through Castiel's brain," Dean counters. "I totally feel like Superman."

_The myth regarding Superman's ejaculatory speed has never been adequately proven,_ Castiel says.

And Dean supposes that now, at least, he knows what Cas talked about around the water cooler.


End file.
